


Flowers Rot Before They Return

by Nordesse



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Just Roll With It (Podcast)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Katherine is mentioned but not directly involved, little warning: Br'aad cuts his hand in order to summon Ob, tags will be updated as the work is updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordesse/pseuds/Nordesse
Summary: These half elven brothers have gone through far too much together to ever truly abandon the only real family they have left.This is basically me conducting a character study and writing very self indulgent shit. But hey, what's self indulgent for one is bound to be self indulgent for others, so here I am posting it!
Relationships: Br'aad Vengolor & Sylnan Vengolor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Flowers Rot Before They Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Br’aad feels useless, like he’s weighing his brother down. He decides to start searching for a way to start helping, to be something more than a useless, robbing halfie. He makes an irreversible mistake along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a bitch for close sibling relationships. 
> 
> Also, this is my first JRWI fic, with hopefully many more to come! I have plenty of ideas, most (read: literally all) revolving around the Vengolor brothers.
> 
> Also god damn, I was amazed that this first chapter turned out to be over 3,000 words. I was expecting maybe 2,000 at most, but the words just kept pouring out. This is the first piece of fanfic I've written in nearly a year, so it was a pleasant surprise.

The wharf was a shithole. That was a fact Br’aad had known ever since he was a child. From the orphanage he’d grown up in with his brother to living on the streets, it’d been awful. The only real home he’d ever had was the abandoned factory the brothers had found one night as kids, hungry and cold. Even then, it was hard to convince himself that such a ragged place could ever truly be home. But with his brother, Sylnan, they turned it into their own personal safe haven. 

The two would bring back small trinkets they’d stolen out in the city, like the dice they’d made up simple games to play with in order to pass time, a deck of cards they didn’t really know what to do with, and enough blankets to build up a small bed of sorts. 

When Br’aad had started teaching himself to read, with Sylnan’s encouragement backing him up, the brothers collected as many books of as many varieties as they could.

Br’aad would stay alone at the factory, working at learning to read and write while Sylnan left each morning to attempt to snatch some food or money. Br’aad remembered the bouts of guilt that would often flood him, feeling rather useless as he stayed in the factory learning for the majority of the day. 

His brother kept them living, coming home with new bruises each evening from direct fights or hasty escapes. There was nothing Br’aad could do about it, only hug him and say sorry for reasons Sylnan didn’t seem to understand.

Learning to read and write took a long time, and Br’aad would often shove the books away in frustration as Sylnan watched with a forlorn look, unable to truly help. But eventually Br’aad caught on. He’d read to Sylnan every night to practice, and the proud smile on his big brother’s face was enough motivation to keep working at it. 

Br’aad wasn’t a genius by any means, but being literate was well worth the trouble. The two never really stopped collecting the books; they had a whole room within the upper floor of the factory that was filled with stacks of them. It varied from picture books to books filled with magical jargon that Br’aad could never really grasp.

Sometimes he’d stay up late at night, reading and rereading the few books focused on magic within the collection. He could read the ones written in Common, although within the same books there were often languages he couldn’t understand or even attempt to learn. But from what he could read, he gathered that while most magic users were born with the skill, it could be obtained by other means. Means such as... selling your soul.

Br’aad, even as a child, had always scoffed at those words on the pages. He’d read a lot about warlocks, people seeking knowledge to the point that they’d form a pact with a being holding so much power, they could only be compared to a deity. They were called the patrons, and that’s how warlocks obtained their magic. 

Br’aad had always doubted the whole ‘sell your soul’ thing was literal. That was just something from old fairy tales made up to scare children into behaving, there was no way in hell it could be real. 

But considering his current circumstances, Br’aad wasn’t so sure anymore.

He’d found a new book. A fancy, expensive looking one within a sketchy old man’s shop. Its cover was purple, with glittering accents of gold around the edges. It’d caught Br’aad’s attention immediately, and he figured that he could snatch it and later sell it for a nice profit. Taking from right under the shopkeeper’s nose was laughably easy, for the old man seemed to be nearly blind. He simply scooped it up as he walked by, seamlessly slipping it into his bag before casually browsing for a little longer. When he found nothing else that piqued his interest, he headed back to the factory.

Glancing around upon his arrival, Sylnan was nowhere to be found inside, which wasn’t surprising. He’d normally be out much longer, either planning a bigger heist or scouting out a future victim. So Br’aad settled onto the wooden floor, his back supported by the wall as he pulled the book onto his lap. 

It was in surprisingly good shape compared to most of the other books that could be found in the wharf. Peeling it open and rapidly flipping through its pages, Br’aad furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. The pages were littered with symbols and notes, and each turned only revealed more. He returned to the first page and started reading. 

He quickly learned that the symbols were supposedly capable of summoning powerful beings, the patrons he’d read on throughout his childhood. He found himself still absorbed by the book’s contents hours later into the evening, when he heard the familiar light steps of his brother climbing up the ramp. Soon enough, Sylnan was ducking through the window, hand holding his white hat against his head to ensure it didn’t fall. “Br’aad! Come check out what I got today.”

Br’aad set the book aside, greeting his brother with the usual bright grin before climbing to his feet to observe the spoils of a successful day of stealing. He’d keep reading later, there’d be plenty of time. 

What Br’aad didn’t expect was the ideas that began leaking into his head as he continued reading the book for days. He poured over the information within its pages, determined to understand as much of it as he could. It was tempting, if he was completely honest with himself. It would be so damn easy to gain access to the arcane forces. He’d be able to help, rather than weigh his brother down. He could be useful.

As Br’aad formulated his plan, he knew immediately that Sylnan wouldn’t understand. The older brother had never been interested in magic, but rather simply avoided it. He especially wouldn’t understand how useless Br’aad felt. 

So he wouldn’t tell Sylnan. If anything, it would be a nice surprise. He’d appreciate Br’aad finally stepping up to take some of the responsibility off his back. He would do this for Sylnan. He’d finally be useful.

It’d be fine anyway, he’d learned enough about the subject to know what he was doing. All he needed to do was draw the symbol, then drip his blood onto it. 

Br’aad got to work a little over a week after obtaining the book. Using chalk, he drew out a symbol on the factory’s floor, one he distinctly remembered from the book. It belonged to a female patron, whose powers focused on the wellbeing of the unfortunate. She looked after those stuck in poverty, those who struggled to simply survive. Surely she would meet the Vengolor brothers and become Br’aad’s patron, giving him the power to finally help them.

The symbol itself consisted of two triangles, in the shape of an hourglass, and three circles horizontally behind it, their edges overlapping like linked rings. Once Br’aad was certain that he’d gotten the symbol right, he stood up straight.

Drawing his dagger, he bit his lip at the light sting that came with slicing into his palm, rivulets of blood beginning to flow from the cut. He held his hand out, right above the center of the symbol, and let a few drops fall.

Br’aad was expecting a calming energy to slowly seep into the room. The book had said a lot about how arcane energy was easy for magic users to feel and wield, and that upon summoning a potential patron, he’d be able to feel such an energy for the first time. The book said the woman was fair and just, with an easy energy that calmed the soul. Br’aad kept his cut hand held against his chest, watching the symbol expectantly.

As the few drops of blood met the ground, nothing happened. Br’aad could feel the disappointment and frustration already welling up in his chest. 

But suddenly, a burst of chaotic energy flared into existence, bright flashes of pink and purple filling the room. The light hurt his eyes, forcing him to squint and look away.

“Br’aad!” A distant voice yelled, one he would always be able to recognize. It was Sylnan. Why the _hell_ was he back so early? He wasn’t supposed to get back until the pact was already made, and Br’aad obtained his magic. He grit his teeth and shut his eyes fully now, dread flooding him. 

Then the delicate sound of ticking met his ears, like a particularly loud hand watch. Muscles tensing and breath stuttering in apprehension, Br’aad’s eyes snapped open. The dagger slipped from his fingers as he took in the sight of the new figure before him, standing on the center of the symbol. 

The figure was a man, certainly not the fair woman the book had described. The colorful, distinctly magical energy continued to crackle around the man, who stood within it nonchalantly, just watching Br’aad with an unsettling look of contempt.

Br’aad’s eyes flickered downward, already leaning down to retrieve his dagger and assume a defensive stance, before freezing once again, this time in shock.

His dagger was floating. In midair. Br’aad stared at it for a moment, then looked out the window, only to see that the trees had stopped rustling in the wind. Sylnan, who had been running toward the factory, mere steps away from the ramp, was frozen midstep. Everything was silent, except for the faint ticking still resonating through the room. Then the puzzle pieces fell together in Br’aad’s head. 

Time had stopped.

He looked back at the man, who’s hair was a dark shade of auburn and mostly short, swept to one side. He wore the fine clothes of a noble, golden accents covering the attire and an expensive looking monocle sat in front of his eye. Now he was stepping out of the symbol and toward Br’aad, a growing smile on his face. 

“Well, it seems I’ve finally been summoned.” He spoke with a unique accent Br’aad couldn’t quite pin, but certainly he sounded as fancy as he looked. 

“Yeah, well, you’re not the one who was supposed to be summoned, sorry about that. So, uh- if you would kindly just disappear and clear the way for a certain other patron.” Br’aad laughed nervously, waving his hands in an unsure shooing motion. With no idea who this man was, or what power he held, Br’aad wasn’t sure how many eggshells he should be walking on.

“Oh,” The man’s head tilted curiously. “So you’re looking for a patron, boy?” 

“What’s it to you?” Gods, he hated how his voice wobbled. He shouldn’t have let this guy know he’s scared, but it seemed far too late for that now. The man’s grin grew even more predatory.

“It just so happens that I’m a patron, and a powerful one at that. I can give you exactly what you’re looking for.” Suddenly he wasn’t in front of Br’aad anymore, instead leaning over his shoulder, speaking directly into his ear.

Jolting and spinning to face him once more, Br’aad gave his best entertainer’s smile despite how shaken he was. “I already have one in mind, actually, and you’re definitely not the one I’m looking for.”

The man lost his sharp grin, now giving Br’aad a look of disdain. “I’m afraid that you’re stuck with me, then. I don’t plan on giving up.” With a snap of his fingers, Br’aad couldn’t do anything but watch as reality disappeared.

Falling was the only sensation he body could process. He was surrounded by an impenetrable black. Not even the comforting sight of stars normally nestled within the dark sky seemed to exist here. It was awful, the lack of sight and sound, only a fall that seemed to have no end.

“Let's make a deal, Br’aad Vengolor.” Br’aad was very sure he’d never told this man his name. Where even was he? He couldn’t see anything, just felt his breathing grow shallow and sparse and he was _still falling._ “You want to be useful, right? To help your brother, to be more than just a distraction? A weight slowing him down?” 

Br’aad simply stared into the darkness in shock. “H-How do you-”

“I’m giving you an offer, and you only have one chance to accept, boy.” The feeling of falling stopped as quickly as it started, and Br’aad’s feet met ground. He stumbled, surprised that the impact wasn’t accompanied by the sound of the bones within his legs shattering.

He wasn’t in the void anymore, but rather on a checkered chess board. The giant pieces were lined up on each respective side, their shadows looming over him. Was he shrunken or was the game huge? Either way, it was weirdly unsettling to feel so small, so insignificant. 

Staring up at the ominous shapes, he realized they weren’t normal chess pieces. Each of the pawns were people he vaguely recognized. He didn’t know them by name, only their faces. He recognized the local baker, especially, a common victim of the brothers when they were kids. He even held the honor of being on the opposite end of their very first heist for his bread, way back before they’d even run away from the orphanage.

The man suddenly appeared before him, and Br’aad was at least thankful they were the same size. Each of them tiny compared to the chess pieces.

“I can help you, Br’aad. I even _want_ to help you.” He waved his hands, and the chess pieces started moving, sliding across the polished wooden board. Soon they were surrounded by towering pawns, knights, bishops, and rooks. But the king stood over them all, and the king was Sylnan. 

Rather than a grand crown, his older brother wore that familiar white hat. His hand rested on the handle of his rapier hidden within its sheath, the other on his hip. Sylnan wore a proud smile on his lips, and looked as if he were looking far out upon the horizon, observing the grand prospects it held.

Next to him was Katherine. She was a woman neither of the Vengolor brothers had seen for quite some time. She’d disappeared before Br’aad had even reached twenty, barely a year ago. Sylnan had to fight through the heartbreak with only his little brother left to support him. How the hell did this guy know so much? How would he know about Katherine?

“I offer you a deal, my boy.” Br’aad turned back to face the man once he spoke, jolting upon finding he was standing much closer than before.

“What kind of deal?” He asked, hesitant but so undeniably curious. This man could twist reality and time like it was a feeble string woven between his fingers. What if Br’aad did accept him as a patron? What power would he receive?

“I’ll become your patron, and all I ask for in return is the occasional game.” The man extended his hand out to Br’aad expectantly.

Looking down at the hand, Br’aad met his gaze once again with a questioning look. “What kind of games? Like, with cards and dice? Or chess?” He motioned to the pieces still surrounding them with a light, nerve riddled laugh.

“Sure, if that’s what you’d enjoy,” The man smirked. “All I ask for is some entertainment every now and then. It’d be easy, and you would never even lose any time, for I would just pause it.”

Br’aad kept silent, staring down at the still offered hand, waiting for him to accept. His mind was tumbling, an unsure storm raging inside of himself. But with a mental crack of lightning, he stuck out his own hand for a firm shake.

“Wonderful. It’s a pact, then.” The man practically _purred,_ looking far too smug. The chess board dissolved around them, and Br’aad watched in unexplainable distress as the chess figures of Sylnan and Katherine disappeared as well. He was back in the darkness, falling once again.

“Just one more thing needs to be done.” The man declared, and Br’aad realized he wasn’t with him anymore, the eerie voice just echoing in the void like before. 

Then his left cheek suddenly began to burn, and it was excruciating. Clutching a hand against his face with a shocked yelp, Br’aad could feel the intense heat emanating from his skin. Just as he was regathering himself, prepared to shout out in fear strangled anger about what the _fuck_ was going on, Br’aad reappeared in the factory. Exactly where he was standing before. 

He immediately snatched the dagger out of the air, holding a flat side up to his face. He slowly removed his hand, grimacing at the boiling agony, forcing his eyes to focus on his reflection. 

On his face was a slowly expanding purple mark. A tattoo of sorts, and it hurt like _hell._ It glowed with a power Br’aad could now recognize as arcane, pulsing with each ceaseless throb. The tattoo continued to grow as Br’aad watched, forming a symbol he didn’t recognize. 

Horror enveloping him, he dropped the dagger, ignoring how it floated in midair. He roughly scraped against the tattoo with his palm, unable to stop himself from crying out as the pain reached new heights.

Br’aad knew this wasn’t how accepting a patron normally went. He hadn’t read anything about being fucking branded, or of such an excruciating, burning pain. 

Dropping to his knees, he dragged the book toward him and wildly flipped through its contents, searching for the familiar symbol he’d been so sure he’d remembered correctly. Then he found it, and Br’aad’s blood chilled. 

The symbol was wrong. He’d drawn out the wrong symbol. The circles weren’t supposed to overlap. Why the fuck were the they so damn _similar?_ Br’aad wildly flicked through more pages with one hand, the other still clutching his burning cheek, now looking for the symbol he’d mistakenly drawn. Half sure he would miss it entirely in his panic, he jolted when the image flickered by, hurriedly backtracking to it and skimming through the notes.

Ob’nockshai was the man’s name, apparently. An old and powerful being, capable of manipulating time and reality to his whims. There wasn’t much info on the bastard, not nearly enough to tell Br’aad why this felt so wrong. 

Cursing out his frustration and desperately trying to ignore his shaking hands and burning skin, Br’aad shoved the book away. The burning intensified once again as he climbed to his feet, making him hunch over and clutch his face tighter, hiding the new branding.

The stinging feeling was spreading, he realized. Down his neck and over his shoulders, maliciously creeping toward his forearms. It left a jagged trail and a searing pain that made Br’aad curl into himself, leaning against the rough wall for support and hissing through clenched teeth. 

Br’aad was still sputtering out curses when the dagger clattered loudly to the ground, and he realized time had resumed. 

Sylnan was rushing through the broken window and straight toward him with an equally panicked expression. The brothers met eyes, one pair a painfully worried brown and the other a quite literally pained green, slowly morphing into a purple that matched the new tattoos.

Br’aad broke the stare as he felt dread swamp him once again, and the burning refused to fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knowing that Br’aad sought out a patron because he felt useless, like he was slowing his brother down, is a big ouch to my feelings. He didn’t just want to be a fucking pixie :(
> 
> Also, I was completely bullshitting my way through the whole summoning thing. I don't know much about D&D other than what I've learned from the podcast, I don't even know if that stuff is ever really specified. Br'aad's book with all the symbols in it included a lot of bullshitting as well. I'm just making it all up in a way that works for the story, spare me.


End file.
